Mute (Muted Trilogy Book 1) (7 page)

He looked concerned, and Jemma blinked, then typed.

“Is something wrong?”

His shoulders dropped along with the tension in his face, and he gave her a lopsided grin before reaching to type on the tablet.

“Sounded like you were having trouble. I heard a lot of ‘sorry,’ but I couldn’t tell what was going on. I came down, and you were looking a bit defeated.” He cocked his head to the side as he watched her.

“Just another person who thought she knew better than I did. We get a lot of those sometimes. She didn’t seem to like the fact that I was eating,” she typed.

He scowled, some of the usual sparkle leaving his eyes. “Then she doesn’t need to be here.” He frowned down at the tablet. “This voice doesn’t do angry very well, does it?”

Jemma smiled and shook her head. “Sounds pretty good for a computer reading text, though, doesn’t it? I think I prefer just typing and reading, myself, but despite this being a library, it seemed like the patrons would prefer talk.”

Jack nodded, moving to push no-longer-present hair out of the way and pausing when his fingers touched what was left. He sighed and dropped his hand, then turned the volume on the tablet all the way down and typed.
Maybe if the voice sounded anything like yours, it would be okay, but it’s just a little too weird, hearing his voice when I see your face, you know?

Yeah,
answered Jemma. She watched him for a long moment. He held himself confidently, his expression open, and he wore jeans and a baggy Star Wars t-shirt that seemed to cover an average frame. A hint of stubble covered his angled jaw line, and the corners of his mouth seemed ever-ready to smile.
What do you do, anyway? I mean, I could check your occupation in the system, but I thought it might be better to ask.

Computer programming
, he typed back.
I like to work here to change things up. Otherwise, I just work at home.

That’s not something I know much about, programming
, Jemma typed.
Do you work for someone else or for yourself?

Jack smiled before answering.
Someone else. Tried running my own business, but the hours were longer than I wanted, and they just kept getting longer instead of shorter. Sold my company, and now I work for someone else. Much easier. Plus, then I can just ignore the jerks and forward their emails to my boss to deal with.

Jemma gave him a crooked grin.
That does seem like a good perk. I don’t know whether I could work at home. I like being surrounded by my books.

Which is why I like to come here for work.
He winked.
Never did get too loud, though there was normally a little more background noise, of course. Being able to watch people gave me something to do without getting up from my computer or switching over to another website. Falling into the black hole that is the internet can be a hazard of working alone on a computer.

I can see that
, Jemma answered. She stopped, unsure what else to type, and felt her stomach rumble. She glanced at the clock and saw she had just fifteen minutes left of lunch. She glanced at her half-eaten sandwich, and Jack seemed to pick up on the look.

I’m going to go grab something to eat.
He hesitated, hands poised over the keys.
Want me to bring you back anything?

Jemma shook her head, surprised.
No
, she typed,
but thank you.

He nodded once, then left, Jemma blinking after him.

Even her coworkers had never offered to get her anything when they went somewhere for lunch. She liked to be self-sufficient, and she wondered whether that had maybe thrown people off. There had been some early invitations to social events, but those stopped quickly after none were accepted. Jemma could be a good listener, so she was usually filled in on whatever gossip her coworkers wanted to share, but otherwise, her interactions at work had always been strictly professional. She rubbed the back of her neck. Was Jack just a friendly sort? Would he have offered anyway? Chances were good that she was making too big a deal out of this. He probably just hadn’t wanted to seem rude, leaving during their attempt at a conversation. She shrugged and finished her sandwich.

A few hours later, she was helping a child, probably ten years old, figure out how to explain what he was looking for.

“What are you looking for with heroes? Do you mean real-life ones or fictional ones?” she asked using the speech program, then watched him slowly type his response, listening difficult with the extended pauses between words. She’d have to look to see whether she could set it to speak only after a button had been pressed or sentence finished.

“I think I want both because I am writing a paper about what it would be like if superheroes were real and how they would fight the voice thief.”

“That sounds very interesting!” she typed back. She looked up and saw her own mother behind the boy, walking toward the desk. She blinked, then smiled back at the kid. “Let me show you where each of those sections is located.”

She showed him around, leaving him once he seemed comfortable in the non-fiction section. She gave Jack a small wave, which he returned, before she headed back downstairs.

She gave her mother a hug before she turned to the tablet. “Hey, Mom,” she wrote. “What’s up?”

“I just wanted to see how this was working out for you and how work was going,” Carolyn wrote, mouthing the words along with the tablet’s speech. Jemma made a mental note to purchase at least one female voice.

“It’s working out well, and work has been good. Pretty normal day. This makes it easier to talk to people.” She considered elaborating, but she decided against it. Even at the quietest volume setting that could be heard, she’d noticed that sound carried, and all the patrons would be able to hear if she complained about their reading speed or about their handwriting.

“That’s good,” said her mother. She stood still, then hugged Jemma again before turning back to the tablet. “You’re doing great, baby girl. I’m proud of you.”

“Thanks, Mom,” Jemma wrote, glad for the nearly-monotone response provided by the electronic device.

“I’ll see you on the usual time and day?” wrote her mom, and Jemma nodded.
See you then
, she mouthed. Carolyn gave her one last hug and then left. Jemma saw a flash of movement from the balcony, then heard a chime from her computer, so she moved around the circulation desk to where she usually stood.

Her work messenger, the one she’d linked to the patron computers, had a notification showing. She had a message from CapJack284:
You look like your mom, except the hair. I couldn’t help but overhear, and, hey, like I said, I watch people when I’m working.

Jemma glanced up at the balcony, but Jack was sitting at one of the tables that was just out of sight. She tried to figure out how much she could tease him without actually upsetting him.

It’s not at all creepy being watched by someone I can’t see
, she typed finally. After a few seconds without a response, she heard a tapping on the balcony railing. Jack gave her a jaunty wave and returned to his table.

I’ve gotta get back to work. Thanks for the brief diversion :)
, he wrote. Before she could decide whether that required a response, the boy she’d helped returned to the desk carrying several books on various types of heroes, and she turned her attention to him.

The rest of the afternoon stayed fairly busy, but the library cleared out quickly, without her even noticing everyone leave. She looked up from a final patron to see the room empty, and when she looked at the clock on the main computer, she saw it was two minutes past her set closing time. She set the door to outgoing traffic only, then made a circuit of the library, finding nobody still present. She wondered briefly whether Jack had tried to say goodbye or not, since he’d sort of been making a point of it lately.

As she finished her closing duties, she felt her phone buzz. She pulled it out of her pocket, holding it in her left hand as she wrote the final counts for the day into the log, and then she turned her attention to the cell phone, blinking to make sure she’d read it correctly.

Did you see the news?
the text from her mother read.
People can talk again!

CHAPTER SEVEN:

Communication

Jemma opened her mouth and tried to speak, but no sounds came out, and she frowned at her phone. Her mother would have called, not texted, if she could speak again. She responded to Carolyn’s text using just question marks, then waited. Her mother’s next message came quickly.

Telepathy! It isn’t much, but it’s something! Turn on the news.

I’m not home yet
, Jemma typed back.
I’ll look at the online news.

Hurry! This is so much better
. Her mother’s enthusiasm speeding her movements, Jemma turned to the computer and pulled up a couple of news sites. Sure enough, the telepathy her mother had mentioned was already front page news.

Voices or Thought?

As you might already have heard, speech has returned.

However, this speech is not spoken.

Confused yet? So are we. A form of telepathic communication seems to have emerged, but it is very limited, and there’s not yet been enough time to definitively confirm patterns.

Initial theories, however, seem to suggest that this can only reach as far as a moderated voice. Furthermore, level of familiarity between the speaker and listener seems to play a part; here in the newsroom, we’ve only found one pair who can communicate, a set of siblings who work in the mail room. Other confirmed communication has happened between spouses and college roommates. At this point, I’ve been unable to experience it myself, and this form of communication seems to have developed less than an hour ago. I find myself wondering what my daughter’s mental voice will sound like.

This article will be updated when sufficient time for research, both in and out of the newsroom, has passed. Meanwhile, head to the comments section to let us know: Have you experienced this so-called telepathy? How is it distinguishable from oral communication? Who are you able to share this with?

—Katie Brink, Staff Writer

She scrolled down to the comment section, but it was nearly empty, nobody really adding to the discussion yet. She stared at the page while she thought. Jemma knew her mother would want her over, would want to be able to speak with her again, even if it wasn’t aloud. She wondered, though, at the comment about the communication requiring a certain level of closeness; how would her family react if she showed up but was unable to talk to them this way? She didn’t want to see that look of hurt on her mother’s face.

She knew, though, that if she put it off, if she waited to find out, she would be preoccupied, wondering. Knowing that there was something she didn’t know but could find out, that had always bordered on unbearable for her, which is what had helped attract her to research and books so strongly in the first place. She sighed and picked up her phone, texting Carolyn.

Okay. I’m on my way over.

Drive safely! Talk to you soon!!!
Her mother’s reply came almost immediately.

Jemma felt her jaw clench and stomach churn. Her mother was so certain they would be able to speak. There really wasn’t any need for Jemma to be getting herself this worked up. She didn’t know what level of familiarity was required, if that theory was true. Apparently, it was somewhere between sibling and coworker. As different, as out of place as she sometimes felt with her family, surely they would still count, still qualify as familiar or close. If it was a matter of love, that wasn’t in question, at least.

She locked up and made her way to her car, walking through the parking lot, taking a moment to admire the colorful sunset. She watched it, letting the colors wash over her, breathing deeply, intentionally. Finally, she smiled and moved to unlock her car. When she heard a noise behind her, she stilled.

She turned to look, but there was nobody there. She shook her head, on edge again, and glanced in the back seat to make sure it was empty before getting in the car and locking the door decisively behind her, turning her attention to driving and to visiting her family a second day in a row.

***

At her parents’ house, she turned off the car, pulling the keys from the ignition and then resting her head against the steering wheel. She exhaled forcefully, then got out of the car, striding to the front door and raising her hand to knock. She paused again, only for a couple of seconds, but in that time, the door opened.

Her mother grinned at her, eyes flashing, looking expectant. Jemma felt some of the blood drain from her face. Had her mother already spoken? Was she waiting for a response?

“You took long enough, Jemma,” she heard, and she closed her eyes, feeling them sting. She swallowed then opened her eyes again. Her mom had moved her lips as if she were speaking, but the sound hadn’t reached Jemma via her ears. Instead, it had echoed slightly in her mind, centering behind her forehead rather than to one side or the other. “It’s easiest to pretend you’re really talking,” her mother said, elation untouched by Jemma’s reactions or hesitation.